Your car idles at the curb, engine low and steady, a small island of stillness against Manhattan’s constant motion. Neon spills across the street, mixing with the golden glow of streetlights, and for a second it’s just you—hands on the wheel, watching the bar door swing open.

Then they come out.

Sienna is first, like always, moving with that loose, confident stride you’ve known since you were kids—but tonight it’s sharpened. Her copper-red hair is styled in soft waves instead of its usual messy fall, framing her freckled face and catching the light with every step. She’s traded her usual shorts for a fitted black mini dress with a high slit that shows off her toned legs, paired with heeled boots that click against the pavement. A leather jacket hangs off one shoulder, effortless, like she didn’t even think about it. “Finally,” she smirks, tapping the hood before drifting toward your side of the car, eyes already sizing you up like this is going to be fun for her.

Kaia bursts out right behind her, all energy and color, practically glowing under the city lights. Her pink twin tails are styled higher than usual, tied with glossy black bows that bounce as she moves. She’s wearing a cropped, off-shoulder top that shimmers faintly under the neon, paired with a tight black skirt layered over fishnets, chunky platform boots adding a few extra inches to her height. There’s glitter dusted across her collarbones and cheeks, catching every flicker of light like she planned it that way. “Okay, listen—don’t say no yet,” she blurts immediately, leaning down into your open window, her grin wide and dangerous like she already knows she’s about to win.

Lila steps out more slowly, the softest presence of the group, but tonight even she feels different. Her long blonde hair is brushed out smooth, parted slightly to one side, with subtle waves that fall neatly over her shoulders. Her makeup is darker than usual—smudged eyeliner, a deeper lip—contrasting her pale skin in a way that makes her blue eyes stand out even more. She’s wearing a black velvet dress that hugs her waist before flaring slightly at the hips, sheer sleeves tracing her arms, paired with heeled boots that she’s clearly still getting used to. “We’re not ready t’go home yet...” she says, voice warm and drawn out, that familiar Midwest softness wrapping around the words as she gives you a small, almost shy smile—but there’s intent behind it.

Anaya is last, and somehow the air shifts when she arrives. Her long dark hair is styled sleek tonight, straightened and tucked neatly behind one ear, a few deliberate strands framing her face. She’s wearing a deep wine-colored dress that fits close through her torso before flowing down just enough to stay elegant, the neckline dipping just slightly, paired with heels that make her posture even more striking. Gold jewelry catches the light at her neck and wrists, subtle but deliberate. “They’ve been planning this since before the second round,” she says calmly as she steps up beside your door, resting her hand lightly against the frame, her gaze meeting yours like she already knows how this is going to go.

Kaia leans in further, practically draped over the window now, eyes bright. “Brooklyn. One stop. That’s it. There’s this club—lights, music, everything. You’d love it.”

Sienna crosses her arms, leaning against the car, one hip cocked as she watches you with that same teasing edge she’s always had. “Don’t pretend you weren’t expecting this.”

Lila shifts her weight, fingers brushing lightly against the hem of her dress as she looks at you a little more directly now. “It’s still early...”

Anaya doesn’t push. She just holds your gaze for a second longer, calm, composed, quietly persuasive without saying another word.

The city hums around you, their presence filling the space, their energy pressing in from every angle—and you can already tell this isn’t just a ride home anymore.

The sun hangs low over Cancún, casting everything in that golden, late-afternoon glow that makes the ocean look almost unreal. Waves roll in slow and steady, the air warm with salt and sunscreen and the distant echo of music from the resort bar.

Further down the beach, your best friends Vitthal, Kenji, Grant and Kyle are already deep into a chaotic pickup soccer game—barefoot in the sand, shirts half-off, yelling over each other as the ball gets launched a little too hard every few seconds. Someone wipes out, someone else celebrates like it’s the World Cup, and for a moment, it’s loud, competitive, completely absorbed in itself.

You’re not over there.

Instead, you’re back under the shade of a wide umbrella near the resort loungers, the all-inclusive drinks still sweating in everyone’s hands. And more importantly—so are they.

Sienna reclines sideways across her chair, one leg hooked over the armrest, sunglasses pushed up into her copper hair, which she’s tied loosely into a high, slightly messy ponytail. Her bikini is simple but sharp—black with thin straps that emphasize her athletic build, a loose button-up left open over it like she couldn’t be bothered to fully commit to “beachwear.” She glances between you and the soccer game, then back to you, already smirking. “So...” she starts, dragging the word out like she’s about to enjoy this.

Kaia is sprawled across her towel, half on her stomach, propped up on her elbows, pink twin tails now braided loosely with little neon ties woven in. Her swimsuit is brighter—teal and black, cut high at the hips with a cropped mesh cover layered over it, fishnet stockings swapped for sheer beach wraps that still somehow match her whole aesthetic. There’s a drink in her hand she’s definitely not pacing. “Yeah, no, we’ve been ignoring this for too long,” she jumps in immediately, turning her head toward you with a grin that’s way too excited.

Lila sits more neatly at first, legs tucked to one side on her lounger, but she’s already relaxed into it, one sandal dangling loosely from her foot. Her blonde hair is pulled into a soft braid over one shoulder, a few strands escaping in the breeze. Her swimsuit is darker—deep green, almost black, with a loose, sheer wrap tied around her waist. She holds her drink with both hands, watching you over the rim with that gentle, curious look. “I mean...” she drawls slowly, voice warm and soft, “we’ve all kinda wondered...”

Anaya sits upright, composed even here, though her posture has softened in the sun. Her hair is pulled back into a sleek low ponytail, sunglasses resting lightly on her nose. Her swimsuit is elegant—wine-colored, clean lines, paired with a light cover draped over her shoulders. She hasn’t said anything yet, but her attention is fully on you, measured and deliberate.

Behind you, the soccer game erupts again—Kyle shouting, Vitthal arguing over a goal—but none of them even look back now.

Sienna leans forward slightly, resting her forearms on her knees, eyes narrowing just a bit in playful focus. “You’ve had options,” she says plainly.

Kaia rolls onto her side, chin in her hand, grin softening just enough to feel a little more real. “Like... a lot of options.”

Lila tilts her head, braid slipping forward as she studies you more closely. “You just... never pick one,” she adds gently.

Anaya finally speaks, voice calm, even, but carrying more weight than the others. “Which makes it intentional.”

There’s a small pause, the ocean filling the silence for a second.

Kaia nudges your leg lightly with her foot. “So what’s the deal?”

Sienna’s smirk returns, sharper now. “Yeah... what are you waiting for?”

Lila’s voice comes softer, but no less direct. “Or... who?”

Anaya doesn’t add anything else—she just watches you, patient, expectant.

Behind you, the game keeps going. Out here, though, all of their attention is on you now—and none of them seem ready to drop it anytime soon.

The city is still half-asleep when you pull away from the curb, Manhattan fading behind you in a blur of dim streetlights and empty avenues. It’s that quiet, in-between hour—before sunrise, before traffic, before the world fully wakes up. The sky is just starting to lighten at the edges, a faint blue-gray stretching over the skyline as you guide the car toward the highway.

Behind you, the rest of the group had split up without much debate—Grant, Vitthal, Kyle, and Kenji piling into a separate rental, already arguing over music and directions before they’d even left the block. Their taillights disappeared ahead somewhere, but their energy feels miles away compared to what’s in your car.

Your car is... different.

Soft lighting lines the interior, subtle and warm. A tablet is mounted within easy reach, already loaded with movies and playlists. A cooler tucked neatly behind the center console hums quietly, stocked with drinks. Snacks—actual good ones, not just gas station filler—are organized within arm’s reach. Blankets, neck pillows, even a small divider to make the back feel more like a lounge than a row of seats. Everything has a place. Everything feels intentional.

And they notice.

Sienna is in the passenger seat, slouched low with her legs pulled slightly up, wrapped in an oversized hoodie that nearly swallows her frame. Her copper hair is tied into a loose, messy bun, strands falling freely around her freckled face. Sleep still lingers in her half-lidded green eyes as she glances around, taking it all in. “...okay,” she mutters, voice rough with sleep, “this is kinda insane.”

Kaia is sprawled across the back seat, already curled up sideways under one of the blankets you left out. Her pink hair is down for once, slightly tangled from sleep, the twin tails traded for something softer. She’s wearing an oversized graphic tee and short lounge shorts, one sock half slipping off her foot as she shifts. “Wait—there’s snacks and drinks?” she mumbles, reaching blindly until her hand lands on something, immediately hugging it closer like she’s claimed it. “Yeah, no, I’m not leaving this car the whole trip.”

Lila sits beside her, more tucked in, knees drawn up slightly with a blanket draped neatly over her lap. Her blonde hair is braided loosely down her shoulder again, softer, sleepier this time. She’s in a long-sleeve top that slips slightly off one shoulder and loose pajama pants, her voice low and drawn out as she looks around. “You... thought of everything...” she says, almost in disbelief, her accent thicker in the early morning haze.

Anaya sits behind Sienna, posture still composed even now, though her movements are slower, more relaxed. She’s wrapped in a soft cardigan over a simple lounge set, her dark hair tied back loosely, a few strands escaping near her face. Her eyes move across the setup carefully, taking in the details rather than just reacting to them. “This isn’t just stocked,” she says quietly, “this is planned.”

There’s a pause as the car hums along, the road stretching out ahead of you, the city giving way to open highway.

Sienna shifts slightly in her seat, pulling the hoodie sleeves over her hands as she glances back at you, a faint, impressed smirk tugging at her lips. “You always do this?”

Kaia lifts her head just enough to look forward, still half-buried in the blanket. “Yeah, like... should we be concerned? This feels too comfortable.”

Lila smiles softly, resting her cheek against her hand as she looks at you from the back seat. “I think it’s nice...”

Anaya meets your gaze briefly through the rearview mirror, calm but unmistakably aware. “It is,” she agrees. “It also sets a standard.”

Behind you, the city disappears completely. Ahead of you, the road opens wide, stretching west—long, quiet, and full of time.

And inside the car, wrapped in soft fabric, low voices, and the steady rhythm of the drive, it already feels like something the others might not quite match.

The bar isn’t anything flashy—just a low-lit spot tucked into a side street, the kind of place with warm wood, muted music, and a steady hum of conversation that never quite gets loud. It’s early enough that the crowd is still building, giving the corner booth a little pocket of space that feels almost reserved.

They got there before you.

Sienna is the first one to claim a seat, sliding into the booth with her usual loose confidence. She’s dressed like she didn’t overthink it—faded black jeans that hug her legs, a cropped tank under an open flannel, and worn-in sneakers. Her copper hair is down tonight, slightly tousled, like she ran her fingers through it on the way over. She leans back with one arm stretched along the top of the booth, already scanning the entrance like she’s waiting for something entertaining.

Kaia drops in next to her, immediately kicking one leg up onto the seat like she owns the place. Her outfit leans more playful—an oversized graphic hoodie slipping off one shoulder, a pleated skirt underneath, fishnets peeking through, and chunky boots planted against the floor. Her pink hair is pulled into messy twin buns this time, a few strands loose around her face. She’s already halfway into a drink, straw between her lips as she talks around it. “Okay but we have to be real with them tonight,” she insists, eyes bright with mischief.

Lila slides in across from them, movements softer, quieter. She’s wearing a simple oversized sweater that drapes just enough, paired with leggings and ankle boots, her style toned down but still distinctly hers. Her blonde hair is loose, parted slightly off-center, and her makeup is lighter than usual—just enough to frame her eyes. She wraps her hands around her glass, listening more than speaking, though there’s a small smile tugging at her lips. “We can be nice about it...” she murmurs, though it doesn’t sound like a firm rule.

Anaya arrives last, composed as always, settling into the remaining seat with a calm presence that shifts the energy just slightly. She’s dressed simply but precisely—dark fitted pants, a soft blouse tucked cleanly at the waist, minimal jewelry catching the light when she moves. Her hair is down, smooth and neat, framing her face without distraction. She doesn’t say much at first, just listens, observing the others with quiet understanding.

There’s a pause as they all glance toward the entrance again.

Then you walk in.

Sienna spots you first, her posture straightening just slightly as a smirk forms. “There,” she mutters under her breath.

Kaia turns immediately, lighting up. “Oh my god, finally—get over here.”

Lila lifts her gaze, expression softening as she watches you approach, while Anaya’s eyes settle on you more steadily, measuring, thoughtful.

As you reach the table, the dynamic shifts instantly—four sets of eyes on you, four very different energies all focused in the same direction.

Sienna leans forward, resting her forearms on the table, wasting no time. “Alright,” she says, tone direct but not unkind, “we’re fixing this.”

Kaia nods enthusiastically, already pointing at you like she’s been waiting all night for this moment. “Yeah—no dodging, no deflecting. You’re perpetually single, and we need to know why.”

Lila winces slightly at the wording, but still looks at you with gentle curiosity. “I mean... we just wanna help,” she adds softly.

Anaya finally speaks, voice calm, steady, and a little more grounded than the others. “They’re not wrong,” she says simply. “You’ve had opportunities. You just... don’t act on them.”

There’s a beat. The music hums quietly around you. Glasses clink somewhere behind the bar.

Sienna’s smirk softens just enough to feel less like a challenge and more like an invitation. “So,” she says, tilting her head slightly, “what’s going on in that head of yours?”

Four different perspectives. Four different approaches.

All waiting on you.

The storm hit faster than anyone expected.

By the time the first real waves of snow started sticking, Manhattan was already slowing to a crawl—cars inching, headlights swallowed in white, the city grinding down under the weight of it. The plan had been simple: everyone together, Christmas night, drinks, warmth, familiar chaos.

That didn’t happen.

Grant, Vitthal, Kyle, and Kenji are still stuck in Manhattan—somewhere between calling Ubers and watching the roads shut down in real time. The car finally came, too late, and now it’s not moving at all. Traffic frozen. Streets closing. They’re not getting here anytime soon.

So instead—

They’re here.

At your place in Staten Island.

The living room is warm, lit by soft lamps and the faint glow of the Christmas tree still standing in the corner, lights reflecting off the windows where snow piles thick against the glass. Outside is chaos. Inside is quiet... but not calm.

Sienna paces first.

She’s still in what she wore earlier—dark jeans, boots, a fitted top under a jacket she never took off. Her copper hair is messier now, strands falling loose around her face as she drags a hand through it, restless energy with nowhere to go. “This is actually insane,” she mutters, not even looking at anyone in particular, voice tight—not loud, just... sharp.

Kaia is on the couch, but she’s not relaxed—curled in on herself, legs tucked under a blanket you handed her, pink hair falling loose around her shoulders instead of its usual styled chaos. Her makeup is slightly smudged, glitter dulled, eyes unfocused as she stares down at her phone without really reading anything. “...I knew something was off,” she mumbles, quieter, more to herself than anyone else.

Lila sits beside her, closer than usual, almost instinctively. She’s changed into something softer—an oversized sweater you offered, sleeves covering her hands, her legs tucked up underneath her. Her blonde hair is slightly frizzy from the snow, braid long gone, and her voice is slow, heavy with that Midwest softness, but steadier than she feels. “They don’t deserve t’get away with that...” she says gently, though there’s a quiet firmness underneath it.

Anaya stands near the window at first, watching the storm, arms folded lightly—not closed off, just... contained. She’s removed her outer layer, now in something simpler, but still put together. Her hair has loosened slightly, a few strands falling free, but her composure holds. When she turns back, her expression is calm—but her eyes are sharper than usual. “No,” she says evenly. “They don’t.”

There’s a pause.

The weight of it sits there—the betrayal, the timing, the fact that it all unraveled tonight of all nights.

Then, slowly, their attention shifts.

To you.

Sienna stops pacing, turning fully now, arms crossing as she leans slightly against the back of a chair, studying you like she’s recalibrating something. “...you’re still here,” she says, not accusing—just stating it, like it matters more than she expected.

Kaia finally looks up from her phone, eyes landing on you, softer now, less chaotic than usual. “Yeah... you didn’t disappear,” she adds quietly.

Lila’s gaze follows, her expression gentle, searching, a little more open than before. “You stayed...”

Anaya watches you last, more deliberate, more measured. She doesn’t speak right away—just takes you in, the situation, the contrast between where everyone else is... and where you are.

Outside, the storm keeps raging. The city is shut down. The night didn’t go the way it was supposed to.

But here, in the warmth, in the quiet aftermath of everything that went wrong—

they’re all still here with you.

And none of them look like they want to be anywhere else right now.

The party had started loud.

Music bouncing off the walls, people drifting between rooms, the kitchen crowded, the living room alive—someone laughing too hard, someone else arguing over what to play next. It was one of those nights that felt like it would just keep building.

And then... it didn’t.

The edibles hit.

Hard.

Now the house is quiet—almost eerily so compared to before. Lights are dimmed, the music long since turned down to a low hum, and the aftermath is scattered everywhere. Empty cups. Half-finished snacks. Blankets pulled out in a hurry.

Kaia is completely out on the couch, curled into herself with a blanket pulled up to her chin, pink hair fanned out messily, one hand still loosely holding a bag of chips she never finished. Every now and then she mumbles something incoherent, then sinks right back into stillness.

Lila is asleep on the recliner, legs tucked up, your hoodie draped over her like it’s the safest place in the world. Her breathing is slow and even, face soft, the faintest crease in her brow like she’s still processing everything even in sleep.

Sienna made it halfway down the hall before giving up—she’s stretched across your bed diagonally, still in her jeans and top, one arm thrown over her eyes like the room was spinning even after she closed them. Every so often she shifts, groaning quietly, then goes still again.

The party didn’t just end—

it collapsed.

You’re the only one fully upright.

Well—almost.

Anaya is still moving.

She steps out of the hallway, having just checked on Sienna, one hand brushing back her hair as she exhales slowly. Her composure is still there—but softer now, edges blurred just slightly. There’s a faint flush to her cheeks, the subtle looseness in her posture that gives her away.

She’s drunk.

Not sloppy—never that—but undeniably warm, relaxed in a way she usually isn’t.

“...they’re all asleep,” she says, voice quieter now, a little slower, but still controlled. “Every single one.”

She walks past you into the living room, taking in the scene—Kaia out cold, Lila gone, the silence settling fully now.

There’s a small pause.

Then she lets out a soft, almost disbelieving breath through her nose.

“...that’s disappointing.”

Not upset—just... genuinely let down.

She turns back toward you, leaning lightly against the edge of the counter, arms folding loosely—not guarded, just settling into place. Her eyes meet yours, steady, but there’s something more playful sitting just underneath now.

“I had expectations for tonight,” she admits, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “None of which included... this.”

Her gaze flicks briefly toward the sleeping forms, then back to you.

“...and you’re fine.”

It’s not a question.

She studies you for a second longer, then something shifts—subtle, but intentional.

Her posture straightens just a little, not fully composed again, but enough to feel deliberate. The disappointment doesn’t disappear... it redirects.

“...well,” she says, quieter now, a faint hint of a smile forming, “that would make two of us.”*

She pushes off the counter slowly, stepping a little closer—not rushed, not hesitant either. Just... choosing to.

“It seems like a waste to end the night here,” she continues, voice low, measured even through the haze of alcohol. “Don’t you think?”*

The house is still. The others are out. The music hums faintly in the background.

And Anaya—still composed, still aware, just loosened enough to say what she normally wouldn’t—

is very clearly not ready for the night to be over.

The terminal had been chaos—boarding calls, last-minute gate changes, everyone moving in that rushed, pre-flight blur. The plan was simple: all of you together, long-haul flight to Singapore, nothing fancy, just getting there.

That didn’t hold.

Somewhere between check-in and boarding, something shifted—names called, tickets reprinted, confused glances traded across the group.

And now—

You’re here.

Not in the main cabin.

Not even in regular first class.

This is something else entirely.

The suite is... absurd.

A private, enclosed space—walls high enough to shut the world out completely, soft ambient lighting built into the panels, everything finished in smooth, polished textures that feel more like a luxury hotel than an aircraft. The main seating area has two wide, plush seats facing slightly inward, separated by a sleek console that doubles as a table—large enough for full meals, laptops, anything you’d need. The seats themselves recline fully, but that almost feels irrelevant given what’s behind them.

Because this isn’t just seating.

There’s an actual bedroom.

A sliding door separates it—fully private, sound-dampened. Inside, a full bed sits centered against the wall, real mattress, real linens, not some folded-down seat pretending to be comfortable. Soft, layered blankets, pillows that don’t feel like travel accessories, lighting you can dim to near darkness. It feels grounded—like it shouldn’t be moving at 30,000 feet.

To the side, there’s a private bathroom—larger than it has any right to be. A full standing shower with glass paneling, polished fixtures, fresh towels already folded neatly. Counter space. Mirror lighting that doesn’t wash you out. It’s not just functional—it’s designed.

Everything is.

Quiet. Controlled. Isolated.

And very clearly meant for two.

Back in the main area, the door to the bedroom slides open with a soft, almost silent motion.

Kaia steps out.

Her pink hair is down now, slightly damp at the ends from a quick rinse, softer without its usual styling—no twin tails, no structure, just falling naturally around her shoulders. It frames her face in a way that makes her look younger for a second, until she moves and that familiar energy slips back in.

She’s changed into the complimentary first class pajamas—nothing like the usual throwaway airline set. The fabric looks soft, almost silk-like, a muted neutral tone that contrasts with her usual bold style. The top hangs slightly loose off one shoulder, the neckline just wide enough to feel relaxed rather than tailored. The pants sit comfortably at her hips, slightly oversized, bunching just a bit at the ankles. Barefoot now, she pads lightly across the suite like she’s still adjusting to how quiet everything is.

She pauses just outside the bedroom, looking around again like she’s still not fully processing it.

“...okay.” Her voice comes out softer than usual, less chaotic, more... impressed.

She runs a hand through her hair, glancing between the seating area, the bathroom, then back toward you.

“This is... stupid,” she says, but there’s a grin tugging at her lips, disbelief more than anything else.

She takes a few steps forward, dropping into one of the seats, curling one leg up under her instinctively, testing the space like she’s claiming it.

Then she looks at you again, eyes a little brighter now.

“...we got this,” she adds, gesturing vaguely around the suite, “and they’re all back there?”

There’s a pause—just long enough for it to sink in.

Then her grin shifts—more familiar now, more like her.

“...yeah, no, I’m not trading.”

The line at Katz’s snakes out the door like it always does—tourists, locals, everyone packed shoulder to shoulder under the old-school signage and buzzing energy. Inside, it’s louder—orders being shouted, knives hitting cutting boards, the smell of pastrami thick in the air.

You and Sienna made the trip out here for one reason.

Pastrami.

No one else in the group gets it the way you two do, so this—standing side by side, tickets in hand, waiting your turn—is its own little tradition.

Sienna’s leaning against the counter now, one elbow propped casually as she watches them slice the meat, her copper hair pulled into a loose, low ponytail that keeps it out of her face. She’s dressed simple—faded jeans, a cropped hoodie, sneakers—but it fits her the same way everything does: effortless, like she just threw it on and it worked anyway. Her eyes flick toward you every so often, like she’s checking you’re seeing the same thing she is.

“Don’t fold,” she mutters under her breath, nudging your arm lightly. “You always fold when they ask if you want extra.”

Before you can respond—

“Hey—quick question!”

A girl with a phone and a mic steps in, already recording, smiling like she’s caught something perfect.

“You guys are a couple, right?” she asks, bright, confident, already halfway into her content.

There’s a split second—

And Sienna doesn’t correct her.

Not even a pause.

She shifts just slightly closer to you, like it’s instinct, her expression smoothing into something easy, natural. “Yeah,” she says, casual as anything, like it’s obvious.

The interviewer lights up immediately. “Okay, perfect—love that. How long have you two been together?”

Sienna doesn’t even look at you for help.

“Depends what you count,” she replies, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Officially? Not that long. Unofficially... way too long.”

The girl laughs, eating it up. “Wait, that’s cute—so who liked who first?”

Sienna tilts her head slightly, finally glancing at you for just a second, eyes sharp with amusement before looking back at the camera. “Oh, I knew them first,” she says, matter-of-fact. “Like—way back. Childhood. So I had the advantage.”

She shrugs one shoulder like it’s nothing. “They just took a while to catch up.”

“Okayyy,” the interviewer grins, “so who said ‘I love you’ first?”

Sienna doesn’t miss a beat. “They did,” she says instantly.

Then, just barely, she glances at you again, one eyebrow lifting like she’s daring you to contradict it.

The interviewer laughs again, clearly having fun now. “Alright, last one—what’s their biggest green flag?”

Sienna’s expression shifts—still playful, but a little more grounded now.

“They show up,” she says simply.

No hesitation. No joke.

Then the smirk comes back, lighter again. “And they don’t argue with me about pastrami. Which is... honestly huge.”

The interviewer beams. “Okay, you guys are adorable—thank you!”

She moves on just as quickly as she arrived, disappearing back into the crowd.

And just like that—

it’s over.

The noise of Katz’s fills back in around you, the moment dissolving into the chaos of the deli.

Sienna doesn’t move away right away.

She just stands there, arms loosely crossed now, looking ahead for a second before finally glancing at you, that same familiar smirk settling back into place.

“...what?” she says, like nothing unusual just happened.

Then she nudges you again, lighter this time.

“Don’t mess up the order.”

Newark’s pickup lane is its usual mess—cars inching forward, hazard lights blinking, drivers craning their necks for familiar faces. The sky’s gone that soft gray-blue of early evening, planes cutting low overhead as the air hums with constant motion.

You spot her before she spots you.

Lila steps out through the sliding doors with her carry-on trailing behind, pausing just past the curb like she’s orienting herself. Her blonde hair is a little wind-tossed from the rush out of the terminal, loose around her shoulders with a few strands catching in the breeze. She’s dressed for comfort—an oversized black sweater slipping slightly off one shoulder, soft leggings, and worn ankle boots—but there’s still that quiet, gothic softness to her, even in travel clothes. Her makeup is lighter than usual, a little smudged from the day, but her eyes still stand out, scanning the line of cars until—

She sees you.

Her whole expression changes.

“Oh—there you are—” she exhales, relief immediate, and before you can even step fully out of the car, she’s already moving toward you.

The suitcase rolls to a stop somewhere behind her as she closes the distance and wraps her arms around you—warm, sudden, and tight enough to feel how much she needed that.

“God, I’m so glad you came...” she murmurs, her voice softer than usual, that Midwest drawl stretching the words just slightly as she leans into the hug for a second longer than expected.

When she finally pulls back, her hands linger lightly on your arms, like she’s still grounding herself.

“That was... kinda awful,” she admits with a small, breathy laugh, glancing back toward the terminal like she doesn’t even want to think about it anymore.

You help her with the bag, getting it into the car, and once she settles into the passenger seat, she lets out a long exhale, sinking back like the tension is finally leaving her body.

“...okay,” she says quietly, looking over at you, something softer settling in her expression.

There’s a pause.

Then she tilts her head slightly, studying you in that gentle, thoughtful way she does.

“You drove all the way out here for me...”

It’s not said lightly.

She shifts in her seat, tucking one leg slightly under the other, turning more toward you now.

“No, I—” she starts, then shakes her head a little, correcting herself. “I’m not just sayin’ thanks and leavin’ it at that.”

Her tone is still soft—but more certain now.

“We’re stoppin’ somewhere.”

You haven’t even pulled out of the lane yet.

“I’m serious,” she adds quickly, a small smile forming as she leans her elbow against the door, chin resting lightly against her hand. “You’re not gettin’ me home that easy.”

Her eyes flick out toward the road, then back to you, a little brighter now.

“There’s gotta be somewhere on the way... someplace nice.”

She hesitates just a second, then her voice softens again, more personal now.

“...let me take you out.”

It’s not playful like the others might be—it’s sincere, warm, and steady.

Outside, cars inch forward, horns blare faintly in the distance.

Inside, Lila settles in beside you, already looking more like herself again—but still watching you, waiting for your answer like it matters more than she’s saying out loud.

CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE